


Broken Things

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Father/Son Incest, Getting Together, M/M, Relationshipping 2019, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-05 19:10:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: He was an only child, and he’d already lost his mom. Now he’d learned that he was a half-person, a broken thing, and he would swear he really could feel the absence of his other half. The realization made him ache everywhere—a throbbing behind his eyes, a scratchy irritation in his throat, a cramping in his stomach, pins and needles in his fingertips and toes.





	Broken Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tongue_spike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tongue_spike/gifts).

Mir learned about soulmarks when he was six years old. The kids in school explained it in detail. Until that point, he hadn’t known the spiky triangle shape over his left hipbone meant anything.

“When the Great Spirit came down to Earth, he landed so hard that the ground shook and the souls which were resting there between lives were all broken in half,” explained one of his schoolmates. “Each of the two halves of each broken soul reincarnated into two separate bodies, doomed to be incomplete unless they found each other again in each new life. By way of apology, the Great Spirit blessed these broken souls with soulmarks so that each half of a pair could recognize its other half.”

“Why didn’t the Great Spirit just put all the souls back together again?” asked Mir.

“Because he couldn’t, silly! They were like Humpty-Dumpty after he fell off the wall.”

“Oh, I see,” said Mir. But he didn’t. Not really.

“My Mom says most people with soulmarks _never_ find their other half. She says you can always tell when the haven’t—they always look so lonely and sad. They’re like half-people. I’m glad _I_ don’t have a soulmark,” interjected another of his schoolmates.

“Yeah, I don’t have one either. I’m lucky I’m a whole person,” said a third classmate.

“I’m not a half-person either!” declared a fourth.

“Yeah, me neither,” said Mir.

But he couldn’t quite meet his schoolmates’ eyes for the rest of the day. None of them had had a soulmark…except Mir himself. Somehow, perhaps by some instinct gifted to him by the Great Spirit, he knew he’d lied. He knew that his spiky triangle shape over his left hipbone was a soulmark, and somewhere out there, somewhere in the world, there was someone who had a spiky triangle shape in the same place just like it.

_Someone_. _Somewhere_.

When Mir got home from school, he went straight to his room, threw himself onto his bed, and cried. He was an only child, and he’d already lost his mom. Now he’d learned that he was a half-person, a broken thing, and he would swear he really could feel the absence of his other half. The realization made him ache everywhere—a throbbing behind his eyes, a scratchy irritation in his throat, a cramping in his stomach, pins and needles in his fingertips and toes.

“Hey, kiddo, what’s the matter?” asked his dad when Mir was still sobbing into his pillow hours later.

Mir was ashamed; he didn’t want to tell his dad that he was actually a half-person. But he did let his dad hug him and stroke his head while he cried, and later, his dad made him his favorite mac and cheese for dinner, and afterwards, he felt a bit better. Mir’s dad was a great dad, and Mir loved him very much.

* * *

As the years passed and Mir grew older and grew up, he thought a lot about his other half. He never encountered anyone else with a left hipbone sporting a spiky triangle shape, though, and if he were honest, he didn’t expect to. At least he had his dad.

And if he were honest, his dad was _awesome_. He was loving and supportive and fun, and he’d never dated, never mind remarried, after mom died, so Mir had his dad all to himself. They’d remained close throughout Mir’s childhood and rebellious teenage years, and even after Mir had left home to go to college out of state, they were texting and chatting every day.

Mir had never been on a date. He said he wanted to focus on his studies, but it was probably mostly an excuse. He’d joined a soulmark matching app as soon as he’d turned 18, hoping his other half was looking for him, too . . . but nothing ever came of it. His other half was nowhere to be found.

It hurt, but Mir had gotten so used to the hurt that he could almost convince himself that it didn’t hurt anymore. Right, well, at least he had his dad.

* * *

“Dad?”

No reply. How weird. The house had been unlocked; his dad must be around. Mir had gotten his spring semester finals finished in record time and decided to come home a couple of days early and start summer vacation asap. He’d intended his arrival to be a surprise.

“Dad?”

Mir thought he heard a muffled groan coming from his dad’s bedroom. It kind of sounded like his name. It sounded like his dad was sick. Or in pain! _No, no, no,_ thought Mir desperately, _there can’t be anything wrong with you! You can’t leave me alone! Don’t leave me alone . . ._

“Um, dad? Hey, what’s the matter?” Panic rising, Mir barreled through the door and into the bedroom—

—and saw his dad on the bed, covers thrown back, naked, muscles locked and back arched. His dick was erect, balls pulled up tight, and he was calling out for Mir and spilling himself—

—spilling himself all over a spiky triangle shape on his left hipbone.

“Dad—you—” Mir didn’t quite know what to say. His father must’ve known all along. He’d bathed Mir; he’d changed his diapers! Yet he’d never, ever said anything. He’d never breathed a word. Why hadn’t he said anything?!

“Mir . . .” His father was panting hard from the orgasm, but his eyes were round as saucers at the sight of Mir home early from college, and the expression on his face was ashamed. “I . . . I . . .”

Well, that expression answered one question. Maybe words weren’t the right approach, anyway.

Mir didn’t hesitate. He was out of his clothing in a trice and sliding into bed alongside his dad. His dad’s presence had always been so comforting, and now, the touch of skin on skin was positively enervating. Mir sobbed, relief and joy and indignation and _need_, all jumbled together and overwhelming.

“Mir . . . Mir . . . !” moaned his dad. “I’m so sorry. I . . . I’m your father—I didn’t think you’d _want_—”

“Dad. Oh, Great Spirit, _Dad_ . . .”

They kissed, and then they were too busy for more words for a long time, Mir and his dad, learning together, with awkward, fumbling caresses and the sweetest of joyful tenderness, how broken things might, on certain, rare occasions, be put back together again.


End file.
